


He's Mine

by boywentz



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aggression, Bottom!Pete, Degradation, Dom!Patrick, Humiliation, Jealousy, M/M, Oneshot, Ownership, Porn with (minimal) plot, Smut, Sub!Pete, Top!Patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywentz/pseuds/boywentz
Summary: "Before Pete could register what was going on, five feet and five inches of pure fury were storming towards him, fist raised, but Patrick's fiery eyes were focused on something behind him. All he could muster was a pathetic "Patrick, I'm sorry-" before he was shoved aside and the sound of a sickening crack filled his ears, followed by a thump and a deep growl from his boyfriend."Stay the fuck away from him. He's fucking mine."





	He's Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to stress that this is consensual on Pete's part; he has the opportunity to use his safe word whenever he wants, and this is mentioned, but he chooses not to of his own free will.  
> Anyway, enjoy ig?

Pete tried to gulp and failed, feeling a single tear slip down his cheek as Patrick's hand tightened around his throat. He could see the fire, the pure fury behind Patrick's usually bright, opalescent eyes. The way Patrick's jaw was tensed, his top lip curled up in a snarl of hatred - perhaps even disgust. Pete had never seen Patrick this angry, and he knew that he alone was the cause.

~

Pete downed his seventh shot, though if you had asked him, he wouldn't have had any idea what he had drunk that night. The tall, lanky stranger beside him grabbed his hand and dragged him to the dance floor once again, leaving Pete's phone - displaying a total of fifteen missed calls from "Pattycakes<3" - on the bar.

Pete was grinning sheepishly, the world around him a blurred mess of bright lights and twenty-somethings holding various bottles of alcohol and grinding against each other. The stranger pressed a wet kiss to Pete's cheek and wrapped his arms around the shorter man's waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against eachother, and Pete's ass was pressed against the other man's crotch. Just as he tipped his head back against the man's shoulder and felt the warm trail of kisses he placed along his jaw, Pete saw the heeled boots and black skinny jeans descending quickly down the stairs in his peripheral vision.

He immediately straightened and stiffened under the handsome stranger's touch, suddenly feeling remarkably sober; unable to move as he watched his boyfriend of six months' head come into view. In that split second it all came back to him; the fight from earlier, the words they're exchanged, the reason he'd come to this seedy club in the first place. Patrick's fedora was gone and his hair a fluffy mess, his hands clenched to fists at his sides - he looked tense, and Pete didn't know whether it was due to their argument a couple of hours earlier, or from searching for him. He immediately twisted in the stranger's arms and pushed away from his chest, but it was too late.

He turned and registered Patrick's expression as their gazes locked, Patrick's piercing grey-green seeing straight through Pete's now watery brown eyes. As Patrick's shoulders slumped and total devastation struck his perfect features, if only for a second, Pete felt his heart shatter. A physical pain consumed his chest as he took a wobbly step forward, brushing the confused hand of the man behind him off of his shoulder, before he saw Patrick's face begin to burn with anger. His porcelain-like skin began to glow with rage, and his eyes shone with tears of frustration. Before Pete could register what was going on, five feet and five inches of pure fury were storming towards him, fist raised, but Patrick's fiery eyes were focused on something behind him. All he could muster was a pathetic "Patrick, I'm sorry-" before he was shoved aside and the sound of a sickening crack filled his ears, followed by a thump and a deep growl from his boyfriend.

"Stay the fuck away from him. He's fucking mine."

Pete had been dragged out of the underground club by the collar of his leather jacket, Patrick ignoring his pleas to go back and grab his phone off the bar. He was practically thrown in the passenger seat, his stomach in knots not only from apprehension, but also - despite the severity of his current situation - lust from Patrick's actions and words. This was more than just the usual dominance, more than the distorted power dynamics the couple occasionally played with in the bedroom. This was aggression, and behind his guilt Pete was loving every second of it, but it did nothing to drown out the overwhelming self-hatred that was currently consuming him.

The car ride to their shared apartment was short, but to Pete the silence caused it to stretch out for a lifetime. When Patrick pulled up to the street in front of the apartment block, he practically ripped the keys out of the ignition. "Out." he commanded, and Pete flinched when the driver's side door slammed.

~

And several minutes later, here Pete was; backed up against the wall of the elevator taking them up to their apartment on the 9th floor, with Patrick's hand around his throat, and tears streaming down his cheeks. "Patrick, I-"

"Fucking shut it, Pete. You want to act like a whore, grinding against men while your boyfriend has no idea where the fuck you are? Fine. I'll fucking treat you like one." Patrick's face was mere millimetres from Pete's, and Pete could feel his hot breath on his lips, which were parted in shock. Truth be told he was terrified at this point, but there was still something about the way Patrick was speaking to him that was sending a delicious flush of heat down his body.

Without warning Patrick released him and he slumped back against the wall, gasping slightly and tenderly rubbing his neck with shaking hands. Patrick retreated a couple of paces, eyes never leaving Pete's, just as the elevator 'ding'ed to indicate their arrival at their floor. Patrick grabbed Pete's wrist as soon as the doors parted, and it was all Pete could do to quickly walk behind him, struggling to keep his footing.

When Patrick unlocked their front door he dragged his bewildered boyfriend inside, before slamming it so hard that a framed photo in the hallway - a candid shot from a day in the park where Pete has asked Patrick to be his boyfriend - fell from the wall and smashed to the ground. Pete flinched, then shrunk back against the door as Patrick turned to face him. The man was clearly still livid, but had perhaps calmed slightly from his state in the elevator a moment before. He placed a hand either side of Pete's face against the door, effectively holding him in place without laying a finger on him.

"So, you were planning to fuck someone else." He spoke in a level, calm voice, one that scared Pete even more than his previous aggression had, and the sentence was far more of an accusation than a question.

"No! No, I wasn't Patrick, I love you, I don't know what got into me, I-" Pete's face paled and he fell quickly into silence as he saw Patrick raise a hand slowly, palm flat, but then he straightened himself and looked Patrick in the eye.

"Do it, slap me, I fucking deserve it." Patrick's eyes closed and he allowed the raised arm to fall slack to his side, pressing his other hand to his forehead. "Patrick, do it."

"Close your fucking mouth, I'm not about to slap you Pete. Get on the bed, clothes off, on your knees. You want to be a fucking slut? That's fine by me." Pete gulped and stayed still, his back pressed against the door, and his dark eyes widened as Patrick's narrowed.

"Do I have to ask twice, whore?" Pete shook his head vigorously and practically ran to their bedroom, stripping quickly in an attempt to not disappoint Patrick further than he already had, then ran a thumb under each eye to fix his eyeliner - smudged from crying - as best he could. His chest felt tight with panic that had yet to dissipate, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath for several seconds. In his mind, whatever was about to happen, he deserved - but he also knew his safeword, and that Patrick would never ignore it, not even now. As he got into position, his hand brushed against the hard outline of his cock in his underwear. He whimpered in surprise, mouth falling open and head tipping backward as he dared to palm himself for a moment for some small relief. After a long minute of kneeling on the bed he felt a presence in the doorway, and lifted his head to see Patrick's now-blank expression, his arms folded across his chest in a hard line that mirrored the shape of his mouth. His colourful eyes darted across Pete's inked torso, before his gaze lowered and his lips parted to speak. "Did I ask you to leave your boxers on?"

Pete shook his head dumbly and got up to stand beside the bed, pulling them down and tossing them aside before breathing a small sigh of relief as his erection was released from the confines of the fabric; though he was still left slightly confused as to when exactly it had occurred. Under the harsh gaze of his still angry, and still fully-dressed boyfriend he suddenly felt a little self-conscious as he got back into position.

"Good boy..." Patrick murmured, and Pete felt the warmth of a blush creep across his tanned skin, Patrick's words of praise meaning more to him now than ever before. Patrick's gaze lowered again until it came to rest on Pete's hard, leaking cock pressed firmly up against his stomach; and he smirked. His eyes were cold, and Pete could hardly bare to meet them with his own. "You fucking get off on this, don't you? You like getting humiliated and degraded." He took a few steps towards the bed and grasped Pete's chin with one hand, dragging his gaze up from his lap. "You like when I'm angry..."

Pete chewed his bottom lip anxiously, searching Patrick's hard gaze for sympathy. The younger man was right; the evidence was right there in front of them both, hard, blood-dark and practically begging for attention. Still Pete knelt there in silence, only tearing his gaze from Patrick's when the younger man pulled something swiftly from his back pocket. Before Pete could react, Patrick's hand was wrapped around his length, stroking it a few times and relishing the moans the friction created before something hard and cold slipped around the base of his dick. A cock ring.

"It's a fucking shame then that you had to be such a dirty little whore... I expect you would've enjoyed this."

Pete whimpered when he realised what Patrick had done, glancing up at his boyfriend imploringly and shifting a little, but his hands remained by his sides. Patrick pulled down his own jeans, not even bothering to remove his button-up shirt before he gripped Pete's hair in one hand and roughly guided his face to where he wanted it. Pete's dark eyes flicked up to Patrick's as he got the message and nuzzled against his half-hard cock through the soft, expensive cotton, mouthing at it tentatively with his hands still limp at his sides.

"Enough teasing. Suck my cock." he commanded, and Pete could hear the confident smirk dripping from his words as he bent down to free Patrick from his boxers and take Patrick's semi-hard length straight into his mouth. Even through the light daze of alcohol still clouding his thoughts, he knew that now was not the time for teasing. Patrick immediately fisted his hand back into the back of Pete's short, bleached hair, guiding his movements gently at first. When Pete moaned softly from the pull, Patrick thrusted into Pete's throat, relishing his boyfriend's lack of gag reflex. He fucked Pete's mouth, pulling his hair harder when the older man began to whine, enjoying the sight of how wet and pink and stretched Pete's lips were around him. When Patrick's cock was slick with saliva, he pulled out, allowing Pete a moment to cough and breathe before he spoke again.

"On your back, whore" Patrick commanded, and although the cock ring reminded Pete that all that lay before him was frustration and torment, he lay back against the soft sheets anyway. "Need prep? Lube?" Patrick asked, his voice slightly softer as he tugged his jeans and underwear off the rest of the way and repositioned himself on the bed between Pete's thighs. Pete gazed up at him through dark lashes before shaking his head. "Need you now..." he mumbled softly, averting his gaze when Patrick's face twisted into a smirk.

"Slut" Patrick hissed, then pressed the head of his spit-slick cock against Pete's unstretched hole, pushing the backs of his boyfriend's golden thighs until they met his chest. Pete moaned shamelessly, rolling his hips and tipping his head back as Patrick pushed into him, but winced once Patrick's hips were almost flush to his ass. His mouth opened to voice his pain but Patrick, ever-observant, noticed the change in his features before Pete said a word. He stilled, rubbing the back of his thighs comfortingly, if a little impatiently. In the moment of silence Pete craned his neck upwards, reaching for a kiss, only for Patrick to turn his head away. Pete's bottom lip trembled slightly, and he could swear he felt a small crack tear it's way through his heart. "You good?" Pete gave a small nod. He was scared that if he tried to speak, the crack would spread to his voice and give way to tears. Patrick moved a little, pressing the last inch or so of his length into Pete before pausing to lick a stripe up Pete's neck, nipping along his collarbone. His eloquent declaration of "Fuck, Pete..." was muffled into Pete's skin, the vibration across his pulse point wracking an involuntary shiver out of him. Once their bodies were pressed against eachother, the younger man pulled out before slamming back home, and Pete yelled with a combination of pain and exhilaration. Patrick grabbed the back of Pete's thighs that had relaxed to sit around his waist and pushed them backward again, providing a better angle for both as he set a fast, hard pace. Pete whined, a pathetic, high noise above the faint squeaking of their mattress and the loud snaps of Patrick's hips against his skin with each thrust. His back arched slightly, helped by Patrick's hands around his waist, the slight change in angle allowing Patrick's cock to brush against his prostate occasionally. He knew Patrick could do better, but also that this wasn't about him. Pete had messed up, badly. Besides, the feeling of Patrick's barely lubed cock dragging against him was enough to tear a shout of his boyfriend's name from his lips, and his small, gasping moans only seemed to fuel Patrick's efforts further. Between them Pete's cock was rock hard but still being neglected, and he knew that moving one hand from there they were fisted in the sheets to touch himself would be out of the question. His hips bucked, rolling down to meet Patrick's sharp movements and up again, straining to get some friction against Patrick's stomach, though it was futile with his legs in that position. 

"Patrick, please... please, I'm sorry-" Pete started, begging for release just as Patrick knew he would.

"You brought this on yourself," he replied harshly, struggling to form a coherent sentence as he kept a ruthless pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. As he felt his own release approaching, Patrick leant over Pete and sucked at his neck hard, hard enough to leave a deep purple mark as Pete whimpered and moaned beneath him, pulling at his shirt with grasping, desperate hands to bring him closer. "This'll show them who you fucking belong to" he mumbled against Pete's skin, and the man beneath him nodded enthusiastically, any thoughts of the man at the club already far from his mind. Pete arched his back in desperation, still aching for friction on his flushed, neglected cock, causing Patrick to bite Pete's lip hard before pulling away.

"Patrick, please, I'll do anyth-"

"Will you fucking shut up? Do you think you deserve to come?" Patrick grunted, his thrusts not slowing as he brought a hand up to choke Pete lightly, letting a single moan fall from his lips as Pete swallowed nervously and he felt the movement against his hand. Pete mumbled "No..." but still swore in frustration as Patrick's thrusts became more erratic, and he came, yelling profanities as he rode out his orgasm and cut out Pete's oxygen supply completely for a moment. Pete whimpered from the sense of loss and twinge of pain as Patrick pulled out and sat back on his heels, watching his cum leak out of Pete; the most primal act of ownership. "Then there's your answer."

"It fucking hurts, 'Trick" he whined, shifting around and causing Patrick to glare at him again. The idea of using his safeword flashed through his mind momentarily before he discarded the idea. He'd had worse than this, he could certainly deal with blue balls for an hour or so. He lowered his legs, wincing at the muscle burn in his thighs but still unable to resist pressing his fingers into the fresh bruise on his neck.

"Yeah? So did I when I saw another fucking man grinding up against my boyfriend, but you didn't seem to give a shit then, did you?"

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! also RiP pete's dick ig  
> I know it's short af, i have the attention span of a fly, but i am trying to work on something longer in the near(ish) future
> 
> tumblr: @boywentz


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